


Rebirth

by foxiea



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen, Infernal Akali, Magic, Order of Shadows, Post-Canon, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 20:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxiea/pseuds/foxiea
Summary: Thousands of years after the fall of the Kinkou Order, Ionian sorcerer Zoltan journeys into the Eastern Mountains in search of a relic that once belonged to the Goddess of Death.Inspired by the Infernal Akali skin, and written for the Smokescreen Akali zine, run by League of Zines and spinyoctopus.





	Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider checking out the [Smokescreen Akali zine](https://leagueofzines.tumblr.com/post/176519526335/league-of-zines-and-spinyoctopus-are-proud-to). It's completely free to download, and an optional donation of $3 will net you a sweet set of Akali icons drawn by zine artists! This project was super spontaneous and tons of fun to take part in - a big thank you to bekkomi, rosymiz, and spinyoctopus for making it happen.

Midnight has fallen by the time they stop to make camp.  A full moon hangs in the clear sky, speckled stars a halo around it.  It’s thanks to the moonlight they have made it this far into the mountain pass.  This is an ancient, treacherous place, and Zoltan is acutely aware of the respect it demands.

 

They’re not far from the peak now. Rocky cliffs flank the path ahead, tall enough that the moonlight no longer touches the ground. Zoltan thinks he sees something there - a figure, standing right where the path disappears into shadow - but when he blinks, the dark splotch is gone, mingled in with the darkness. The hairs at the back of his neck stand on end; a warning.  

 

His men, however, remain oblivious. The sound of flint striking against steel draws Zoltan’s attention away from the things that lurk in his thoughts, and back to them. They’re both bent over a makeshift fire pit, one striking sparks and the other gently trying to fan the sparks into flames. In three strides, Zoltan closes the gap between them, swiping away the flint.

 

“No fire tonight,” he growls, eyes flickering back over to the shadows. The men exchange a glance, but say nothing. Zoltan is of these lands, but they are not; they know better than to question his orders. He told them of the legends when they first set foot on the mountain - of the Order of Shadows, the blood of the Kinkou Order that spilled here long ago. He told them the mountain remembered.

 

He wards a protective circle around them before they sleep. The magical charms glint and glimmer in the moonlight. Even with their protection, Zoltan doesn’t feel quite safe. Another glance at the shadows. The darkness looms. Ominous. Waiting.  

 

Zoltan turns his back to it. The sooner they reach the peak, the better.  But the night is cold, and sleep does not come easy.

* * *

Sunrise does little to disperse the chill in the air.  They shiver awake in the early hours of the morning, bleary eyed and poorly rested.  Zoltan is well accustomed to such things. In his line of work, rest is earned only when the job is done.

 

His men are a different sort; hired with coin and used to cushier jobs than this, but Zoltan pays them well enough not to complain.  Not directly to him, at least. This morning they grumble at each other in a coarse tongue unfamiliar to him, but he pays them little mind.  As long as they make it to the peak.

 

The shadowed pass envelops them in darkness as they step inside. Zoltan remembers the figure, and feels a chill run down his spine, the darkness weighing down on him.  He mutters a spell for protection under his breath, but the weight does not lift. He walks on.

 

Though the shadows seem unending, after hours of walking they finally see it.  The towering cliffs begin to lose height, and light spills out onto a rocky plateau.  In the centre, behind a torii gate, stands an ancient shrine. 

 

Zoltan’s heart skips a beat.  The Kinkou Order’s shrine in the Eastern Mountains.  After years of searching, hundreds of failed expeditions, he’s finally found it.  It isn’t just a legend.

 

Up close, he can see flecks of paint peeling away from the torii, the wood rotting with age.  The shrine beyond, though, looks as though it may have been constructed that very day. The paintwork lacks any chipping, and the veranda is free of dust.  Even the door does not squeak on its hinges when Zoltan nudges it open to step inside. His men do not follow.

 

The shrine is simple in its layout.  It houses only one room, bare of furniture but for the altar, upon which sit three ornate boxes.  Zoltan kneels before the altar and recites an ancient prayer, one passed down since the time of the Kinkou themselves.  A prayer to honour the dead.

 

Standing, he reaches for the ornate green box.  The box is covered in jewels, sparkling emeralds that glitter brightly.  A lowly thief might take the box itself as the most valuable thing in this shrine, but Zoltan knows the true treasure lies inside.  He flips the latch, revealing an intricately designed kunai resting on green velvet.

 

Zoltan takes the kunai in his hand, turning it over with careful fingers.  Even in the dark, it still glistens. It’s only then, when he lets out a small  _ oh  _ sound, that realises he’d been holding his breath.

 

“ _ The Fist of Shadow _ ,” he whispers, reverent.

* * *

Zoltan and his men are making their way back down the shadowed pass when they strike, dark tendrils taking human form and surrounding them. Zoltan clutches the kunai tight, searching for an opening, but the Shadows have surrounded them. Twenty, thirty now, peeling out from the darkness; they don’t stop coming.

 

One of the men starts to shout in a language Zoltan doesn’t understand, but it cuts off into a gurgling sound, and Zoltan realises the Shadows have slit his throat. The other man seems to realise it too, seems to realise just what these shadows are, the truth of Zoltan’s warnings. He unsheaths the knife at his belt - a large, curved blade - and lunges at one of the Shadows, but where the blade cuts there is nothing but smoky darkness.

 

The man turns to look at Zoltan, horror in his eyes, mouth trembling as if trying to form words. Shadows coil around his neck as Zoltan watches, powerless to help. The man whispers something - it might have been a name, a prayer, Zoltan can’t be sure - and then the shadows  _ twist _ and he collapses to the ground, head lolling to the side. The Shadows start to laugh.

 

Zoltan has wards and protection spells, but he knows his magic is not strong enough to ward off these Shadows forever. The Shadows seem to know it too, as they gather closer. Laughing. Waiting. He doesn’t have  _ time _ .

 

With desperate, clumsy movements, he removes the kunai from its velvet wrapping.  Hands shaking, the blade nicks his finger and draws blood, but that’s the least of Zoltan’s worries right now.  The Shadows will do much worse if they get to him.

 

“Goddess,” Zoltan whispers, unable to stop his voice trembling.  “Goddess, hear my prayer. I am your servant, your vessel. All I do, I do in your name.”

 

The laughter from the Shadows grows louder, and Zoltan finds himself shaking, sweat dripping down his forehead, as they circle him like vultures.

 

“Goddess, hear me,” he speaks faster now, keenly aware of his time running short.  “I deliver myself unto you, in hopes that you will bring me salvation.”

 

With the final word muttered, Zoltan plunges the kunai into his heart, just as the warding fades and the Shadows begin to break through.  Zoltan’s vision begins to blur.

 

A fiery supernova ignites the pass, the Shadows vanquished in smoke and fire.  Before him stands his Goddess, with molten skin and hair aflame, twin horns framing her face.  She is the picture of righteous vengeance, and she is beautiful.

 

“Goddess,” he breathes, “Please, save me.”

 

She gazes down with uninterested eyes, as if noticing him for the first time.  Her finger presses against the kunai lodged in his heart. He lets out a gasp, and shudders.

 

“No,” she says.


End file.
